August 13, 2010 - Breakfast

It's 7:16 and I'm going to give myself until 7:20 to get moving. The coffee is perking. We're out of milk. I'm drinking bourbon in the evenings and eating fries at lunch now. Which is normal American behavior. I'd hardly remark on it if I didn't have to write it down. But because I do, I do. Bourbon and fries. Two absolutely wonderful things. Although I find the mealiness of the big-potato fries unsettling. I want my fries crisp all the way through, the sort of thing you bite with the front teeth.

I think a lot about how people are monkeys. The situations we evolved for versus the ones we're experience. And that moment: slicing into the (crisp please) fries with my front teeth, the satisfaction of it--that's a monkey thing. A pure physical comfort and pleasure. Coded into the system from days spent ripping out antelope viscera with my teeth and slurping Neanderthal brains into my mouth. I'm made for that as much as I'm made for updating my fattie blog. Maybe that's what being fat is: in a time of insane plenty you are an anachronism, fundamentally old-fashioned. Something from another era, because you're still acting according to your most basic primate-desires, whereas the thin people have it on lockdown; they put those hungers into their briefcases on their ways to pleasant, highly ritualized meetings, checks ready to sign, whereas (it's 7:21, so pencils down)--whereas I'm sitting alone under a tree, shooting Chocoguns into my mouth. Later, in the dark, they open their briefcases and hell flies out.

Weight: 308.25 lbs